You Are Astounding, My Love
by ilovecastiel18
Summary: About a week after the Apocalypse-that-wasn't, Aziraphale and Crowley are drinking in the back of the bookshop when Aziraphale asks why Crowley never takes his glasses off, even when they are alone. Crowley explains that he hates himself, and Aziraphale comforts IGGER WARNING: Mentions of self-harm. Aziraphale/Crowley. Hurt/Comfort, angst, fluff, friendship, romance. One-Shot


**Disclaimer: **Good Omens, along with its characters, locations, etc. are the property of Neil Gaiman and Terry Pratchet. If I owned the rights to it, I wouldn't still be desperate to meet the man that I absolutely ADORE: David Tennant.

**Summary: **About a week after the Apocalypse-that-wasn't, Aziraphale and Crowley are drinking in the back of the bookshop when Aziraphale asks why Crowley never takes his glasses off, even when they are alone. Crowley explains that he hates himself, and Aziraphale comforts WARNING: Mentions of self-harm. Aziraphale/Crowley. Hurt/Comfort, angst, fluff, friendship, romance. One-Shot.

**A/N: **I just wrote a fic where Aziraphale was self-conscious about his weight, and I wanted to write a similar fic with Crowley being the self-conscious one. I didn't think Crowley would be bothered by comments about how skinny he is, but his eyes…

….

You Are Astounding, My Love

….

Crowley hated his eyes. He had hated his eyes since he gained them in his Fall from Heaven, since his sparking brown irises were replaced by a sickly yellow and his pupils turned slitted.

He didn't mind that he could turn into a snake. If he was honest with himself, it was nice to be able to change into that form and curl up next to a fireplace (preferably the one in Aziraphale's bookshop, not that he would admit that. He also wouldn't admit to the wandering thoughts he had been having for the last few centuries about curling up in Aziraphale's lap in his snake form). However, he hated that his eyes were consistent in both of his forms, because they always reminded him of the divinity that he lost.

Of course, he was constantly surrounded by divinity, considering that his best friend was a Principality. But the thought was still there, sneaking up on his every few years and making him hide in his flat until the self-hatred subsided.

About a century ago, Crowley began to hear about the practice of self-harm, of cutting or burning oneself to ease emotional pain. So, hating himself for it, he had tried it, and found that it help for about a moment before he began hating himself even more. And yet, he continued doing it.

He would cut himself, to the point where both of his forearms were covered in thin white scars, some still red from recent encounters with a blade, and then he would feel better. Until the feeling subsided and he felt even worse about himself than he already did. He hated himself, was disgusted by his actions, but… he couldn't stop.

Then, he would leave his flat and go see Aziraphale to assure himself that at least one being in the universe wasn't disgusted by him. Well, Aziraphale could hate him, but he was very good at hiding it, if he did. He always seemed to actually care about Crowley, which was something that the demon had been trying to wrap his mind around for six millennia.

Today, only a few days after the failed Apocalypse that was supposed to end everything, those thoughts snuck up on Crowley again, making him hide his eyes behind his sunglasses as he and Aziraphale drank a case full of wine in the backroom of the bookshop.

As he drank, enjoying Aziraphale's company and allowing himself to be happy just for once, his self-hatred struck him like a bolt of lightning. Crowley almost flinched, but he hid it by readjusting the way he was sprawled over the couch. He pressed his glasses more firmly onto his face, pushing so hard that he accidently left a mark on the bridge of his nose. Something that Aziraphale was bound to notice.

And he did, despite being royally drunk.

"Crowley, dear, why are you wearing your glasses in here? It's just us." Aziraphale asked, slurring his words slightly because he was deep into his fourth bottle of wine.

"I know that, angel. I just like to have them on, that's all." Crowley muttered, sipping his wine to hide the tremor in his hand.

"You never seem inclined to take your glasses off, even when no one, save me, will see you." Aziraphale argued. "I understand wearing them out in public, because your eyes could frighten humans," Crowley flinched at this statement. "But why would you wear them when it's just us? Your eyes could never frighten me." Seeing the way Crowley cringed when he said that his eyes could scare humans made Aziraphale start to understand the issue. He decided that he should sober up if he was going to have this conversation, so he did.

"Crowley, dear, your eyes could never frighten me." He repeated, gracefully sliding out of his chair onto his knees, and moving over so he was hovering over Crowley. "May I…?" he reached up and lightly placed his hand on the arm of Crowley's glasses, waiting for confirmation.

Crowley attempted to form words in his throat, then just settled for a short nod when his voice wouldn't cooperate. He felt panic rising in his chest as Aziraphale carefully took his glasses off his face and carefully set them on the end table next to the couch.

"Why do you hate your eyes?" Aziraphale muttered.

"Who said I hate my eyes?" Crowley whispered, turning toward the back of the couch.

"Your body language, dear." Aziraphale replied, lightly touching Crowley's arm and causing the demon to flinch again. "Why do you hate your eyes?" he repeated.

"It's just…" Crowley turned more fully toward the back of the couch, so he was completely facing away from Aziraphale. "They always remind me of my Fall, and how I'm a vile demon. How I'm not worth your affections…" he trailed off, curling in on himself.

Aziraphale gave a little broken sigh, stroking his hand up and down Crowley's arm while he tried to think of something to say. He felt Crowley tense under his hand. "I don't think you could ever be unworthy of my affections, dear." He whispered. He stroked up Crowley's arm again, and felt the demon tense even more. "Is something else wrong?" he asked quietly. "You keep tensing up."

"No, it's…" Crowley didn't finish his sentence.

"Crowley, please look at me." Aziraphale pleaded.

Unable to ever deny his angel something that he asked, Crowley flipped around so he was laying down, facing where Aziraphale was kneeling next to him.

"Tell me what's bothering you." Aziraphale commanded softly.

"It doesn't matter, angel." He whispered in the general direction of Aziraphale's chest.

"It matters to me, dear." Aziraphale replied, reaching up to stroke his hand over Crowley's cheek. He felt like he might be stepping over some invisible line between them, but he also found that he didn't much care.

"I just, sometimes I hate who I am. I hate that I'm Fallen, that I'm a demon, that I'm supposed to be evil. I'm the original Tempter, the snake in the Garden, I am literally the poster boy of Hell. And my fucking _eyes _always remind me of that whenever I start to feel like everything is okay. I hate them because they remind me of how… _vile _I am." Crowley muttered, still not looking Aziraphale in the eye. "And sometimes I take that hate out on myself in ways that I probably shouldn't…" he continued, trying to vaguely explain why he kept tensing up.

"Crowley," Aziraphale reached forward and grasped Crowley's chin lightly, turning his face so he was looking into his yellow snake eyes. "You are not evil or vile. It doesn't matter that you are a demon, because you are a good_ person. _You're _nice. _I know you hate it when I call you that, dear, but it's true." He stroked a hand across Crowley's cheek, catching a falling tear on his thumb. "And I think your eyes are beautiful.

"You wouldn't feel the same if you knew…" Crowley trailed off.

"If I knew what, dear?" Aziraphale asked calmly. He was still stroking his hand up and down Crowley's arm.

Crowley took a shaky breath and sat up straighter. "Do you really want to know?" he asked quietly, looking at the floor.

"Yes. Nothing you say or do will change my feelings for you, Crowley." Aziraphale replied.

Crowley took another shaky breath and slid his jacket off his shoulders, grabbing onto the cuff of his shirt and pulling it up to his elbow. He repeated the action for his other arm, refusing to look at Aziraphale.

He was surprised when Aziraphale didn't recoil from him, didn't make a disgusted noise and tell him to leave his shop. Instead, Crowley felt a feather-light touch brush over both of his forearms, over the many, many scars that littered them.

"You did this… to yourself?" Aziraphale asked quietly, his voiced shaking.

Crowley bowed his head, giving Aziraphale all the answer he needed.

"Why?" Aziraphale asked, allowing the tears in his eyes to fall down his face. When Crowley didn't move, he gently lifted the demon's chin and forced him to make eye contact. "Why, Crowley?" he asked softly, keeping any accusatory tones out of his voice.

"Because I hate myself, Aziraphale. I hate that I'm a demon, I hate my eyes, I hate that I'm so… undeserving of you. I hate it. This is the only thing that makes me feel better. At least for a moment." He muttered, tears falling from his own eyes. "I just feel so… burdened, like I have weights tied to my ankles and I've been thrown into the ocean. Every time I think things are getting better, something else is added on. And these _fucking eyes_ never let me forget it, never let me forget that I'm Fallen. I'm evil."

Letting his flow freely, Aziraphale reached up and wiped the tears off Crowley's face. "You can always come to me, my dear. I'll always be there for you. You are not undeserving of me, you are not evil just because you are Fallen; I love you very much and that will not change because you… harm yourself." Aziraphale paused and lifted Crowley's left inner wrist, where the worst of the cuts were, to his lips and kissed it softly. "I do not condone this behavior, Crowley, I want you to know that. I want you to get help, to come to me, before you harm yourself. But I do not love you any less because of it." he brushed a hand through Crowley's hair, sighing when the demon launched himself off the couch and into his waiting arms. "Crowley, you are beautiful. You are beautiful, loving, caring, _amazing. _I don't want you feeling like you're evil or worthless, because you're not. Not to me, darling."

And Crowley cried. He held onto Aziraphale like a life preserver in the middle of a typhoon, desperate for any comfort he could receive, after six millennia if dealing with his issues alone.

As if reading his mind, Aziraphale spoke up again, saying "You're not going to be alone again, Crowley. I'll always be here for you, just like you've always been here for me. I'm so sorry that it has taken this long for me to tell you that I love you, but I do. I love you so much…"

As Crowley cried, Aziraphale kept muttering a soothing string of words in his ear, stroking his hair and back. Crowley had never felt so comforted before. Aziraphale's arms felt like home.

When he was done crying, he sat up on his knees and looked at Aziraphale, at a loss for words, with tears still swimming in his eyes.

Aziraphale reached up with one hand and cupped Crowley's cheek, stroking his thumb across his cheekbone. "So beautiful…" he muttered, looking into the demon's eyes.

"Do… do you really love me?" Crowley choked out, reaching out and frantically grabbing Aziraphale's free hand. Aziraphale calmly squeezed the hand wrapped around his own.

"I have for many, many years, dear. I'm sorry that it took me so long to tell you. I'm sorry you've struggled with you issues all by yourself for all these years, but I assure you that it won't happen again."

"I love you, Aziraphale. I have since the Beginning. You're so… _good. _Kind. Loving. You're everything that an angel should be, and that the other angels are not. I know that you have your own… issues, angel, and I just want to say…" he paused, cautiously placing his free hand against Aziraphale's chest, over his heart. "I'll always be here too. Even if I'm not around, even if Hell comes after me and I'm gone forever… I'll always be here." He gently pressed against Aziraphale's chest to get his point across, then slid it up and around Aziraphale's neck so his fingers were tangled in Aziraphale's messy blond curls.

Aziraphale moved his hand so he could cup Crowley's chin and turn his head so his eyes reflected the light from the lamp on the end table. "So beautiful…" he repeated. "You never cease to amaze me, my dear. You know, I think your eyes are a lot like you. At first glance: demonic, evil, all the things you think that they represent. But when you get closer, you can see that your eyes have a depth, a kindness to them, that is exactly the opposite of demonic." He stroked a hand across Crowley's cheek. "When your eyes reflect light, they take on this gorgeous, deep gold color… I don't think I can ever look away…" he trailed off, letting his eyes drift down Crowley's face. He swallowed hard. "Can I…"

And then Crowley, in a moment of bravery, tugged the hand he had behind Aziraphale's head toward him, bringing their lips together in a passionate kiss. It wasn't heated, it wasn't sexual, but it was filled with so much love that Crowley felt like he might start crying again, as if he hadn't already humiliated himself enough this evening.

He felt Aziraphale place his hands protectively on his abused forearms and found that he could hardly breathe, despite not needed to, because _Aziraphale loved him despite his issues, despite his nasty habits. _Crowley never thought the day would come where he would be loved unconditionally. Not when he was still an angel and certainly not after his Fall. But here he was, kissing the angel he had loved since the Beginning, and he found that everything might be alright after all.

And then Aziraphale broke away, tilting his head forward so their foreheads were pressed together, trying to keep as much contact between them as possible. "You are astounding, my love…" he muttered.

And Crowley couldn't help but kiss him again, as they kneeled uncomfortably by the couch in the backroom, because _dear God – Satan – he loved the angel with everything in him, and if he ever lost him…_

He didn't allow himself to continue the train of thought. He was here, with Aziraphale. Nothing had happened to them, and nothing should for a long time. As he kissed the love of his life, desperate to convey how much he cared for him, with all his heart, he finally realized that he didn't have to suffer alone anymore.

Aziraphale loved him, and that was all he could ever ask for.

….

_**A/N:**__ I don't know how good this is, because I had a residual high when I began writing it and then my crush since eighth grade messaged me and asked if I was down to fuck, so I've been a little out of it for this whole fic. If you see any spelling or grammar issues, feel free to let me know. And please leave a review if you like it!_


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